Toxocity
by ashoincognito
Summary: Exploring the lives of four teens, all with more to deal with than meets the eye; their paths cross, intersect, and sometimes merge. Drugs, sex, rock 'n' roll, religion, love, acceptance, family, and the ever-present battle for 'who am I'. R&R?
1. Jenna's Mirror

I.

She takes pictures

To try to hold in things

She is afraid she'll never remember.

Beautiful hideous people

With candy-coated lips

And powder-clogged sinuses

They mean her no harm,

She tells herself

Through the two way mirror

With the mad, mad hatter

And the ever-crushing grin.

This is love.

Or so she hears.

Giving yourself to another

Endlessly

Wholly

Unquestioningly.

And when he gives back

With fingers and hips

Sugar-coated lips

She knows

That the box in the closet

Behind all the books

Will forever be kind

Oh,

So

Very

Kind

In helping her to never

Ever

Forget.


	2. Emlyn's Owning

II.

He is not scared

By the visions.

He is not afraid

Of the dark.

He braves it,

For days on end

Never closing his eyes

Never sleeping.

His hunger for it

Commands everything.

Everything.

He must have everything.

Everything.

It is all his.

All of it is his.

She is all his.

And when he lays there

Arms around her

Vibrant and alive

Twitching with it

He knows

She will always be there for him.

He hates her for this.


	3. Bradley's Want

III.

My best friend

Is a victim

And I

Am no victor

And he

Is no vicar

With the way he takes from her.

I

Wish I could say something

But who am I

To try to take anything from her

When she

is so happy

And he

Is so sure

And I

Am so lost,

Alone,

Left out.

She

Gets a home

A place to stay

Or at least

What she thinks of as one.

And I

Have nothing

For me

For her

For anyone.

Why would I

Take that home from her

When all I want

Is one myself?

Jealousy

Can wait.

She

Is happy.

So I should be

Too.


	4. Lacey's Other

VI.

We live together

But you

Are a stranger.

An intimate,

Close,

Ever-present

Stranger.

I feel you

In the back of my mind

Poking,

Prodding,

Screaming

At me.

They call this delusion.

They call this crazy.

I feel you

Exploiting me

With your hands in places

I do not want you to go

My sister

Lost at birth

A hostile guest

In my own head.

Twin,

They call you delusion.

They call me crazy.

I live with you

But who are you?

Hell

Fire

Hate

Pain

Schizophrenia.

Yes, twin

They call you delusion.

They call me crazy.


	5. Jenna's Hope

V.

When it comes to

smiles

relaxing

knowing

anything at all

I know

is thanks

to Bradley.

When time

crashes down

like a

landslide

slip

slip

sliding

down my face

and it seems like

there's no way

out of here

out of sadness

out of pain

I know

Bradley

will always

always

always

be there.

We share our

lack of homes

lack of families

lack of anything.

But I

had one

I lost

because God

hates

his failures

like me.

He

never knew

Christmas

swimming pools

slumber parties.

So when

I

need someone

I

go to

him

because he

can teach me

things

I

never learned.

Like

trust

and

love

and

acceptance

and a God

that doesn't say

Jenna

you

have no

place

purpose

reason

rhyme

hope.

Because I do.

I have Bradley.


	6. Emlyn's Lust

VI.

When I met

Her

She was small

Frail

Weak

Useless

Scared

I had to have her

To collect.

When I meet

Her

She is tall

Untouchable

Strong

Cold

Distant

I have to have her

To fight.

When I met her

She gave in.

Everything.

Easily.

Gladly.

When I meet her

She gives nothing.

No name.

No glimpse at

weakness

chink

gap

loophole

I must have her.

But first,

I get rid of

Her.

She cries.

I laugh.

Tears

are something

I have

no cares

regrets

remorse

sadness

over.

Peace of mind,

strength,

invincibility

comes in a pill

a powder

a shot

and I

have no use

for weakness

when I

could

have strength.

I must have her

and her dual

contradicting

eyes.

So I purge.

Not my veins

nor my nose

nor my lungs

but my heart.

I always hated her

anyway.


	7. Bradley's Strength

VII.

Rain

and tears

and sadness

always seem

to travel

down

down

down

Like gravity

is a cold

cruel

awful

thing

that wants

to get rid

of everything

close to it

by throwing it

down

down

down.

When she comes

broken

sad

alone

again

I smile

and hold her

and we wonder

where

we will go

to sleep

to relax

to hope

to safety

to know home

But not really

because I know

and I hope

that she knows

that sleep

relaxation

hope

safety

home

are here with us

with me.

Because I know

I

would do anything

to take her

home

and

I

am not one

to say

I told you so.

So I don't.

I hope she knows.


	8. Lacey's Intrigue

VII.

With shaggy hair

and cold eyes

and a snarl

that says

drugs

drugs

drugs

hate

hate

hate

impatience

lust

longing

I wonder

why

he wants

someone like me

a model

with dual

twisted

crossed

double

trouble.

But he is charming

smooth

smiling

charismatic

and I think

that I deserve

to feel

like

its someone else's turn

to fix me

to fix us

to do an exorcism

on my

dual

twisted

crossed

double

trouble

sense of self.

He cites

two things

as his rules.

Two.

That number.

It is familiar.

Two

can be

a crowd

or very

very simple

when it comes

to rules.

'No lies

no regrets'

I think

I can handle that.


	9. Jenna's Vices

IX.

Time with Bradley

runs slow

and fast.

Slow

like

waiting

for Christmas

birthdays

tantalizing

torturous

pleaseletitend

pleaseletitstay.

Fast

like

summer vacation

sleep

trying to

not

lose

your

darn

mind.

He matches me

in size

interests

smiles.

Bright colors

cuddles

rain puddles

animals

Loss of home

family

independent

but needy

Lonely

but together.

And yet

at night

when I try

to lay there

and not feel

like

crap

I close my eyes

and grab something

sharp

dangerous

beautiful

and lose myself.

Does he know

see

understand

?

.

.

.

I don't know.


	10. Emlyn's Victory

X.

When it comes to sex

there are no ties.

There is win

or lose

dominant

or submissive

winner

loser

'Love'

is something

that cannot

every

exist

in the bedroom.

Scratches

and sighs

and drunken lullabies

don't stay 'till tomorrow

flee fast for the door.

I am a victor.

Always.

There is no

'maybe'

with me.

I always

always

always

win.

My name

is one

they don't quickly forget.

Their name

is one

I don't care

to learn.

.

.

.

Except

her.

She

is dual-sided

controversial

contradictory

undecided

the strongest weak

confused

hidden

soul I've ever seen.

She puts up a fight

but the chase

makes the prize

worth it.

And in the end

she

like all the others

thanks me

and turns

to go on her way

the walk of shame

full of

mixed feelings

on

how

the

night

went.

I think

I will

remember

her name.

Lacey.

I've always

wanted

a

model

to

collect.


	11. Bradley's Silence

XI.

She must think

I am blind

To not see

under

soft shirts

careful sleeves

lowered bangs

that she hurts

her

self

mind

arms

legs

soul.

How could I not see

the hurt

in her

eyes

heart

soul

skin.

But I

swallow

comments

questions

concerns

fear

and hold her close

because

what do you say

when the only reason you are living

wants to die?

So I

hold her

love her

and swallow

comments

questions

concerns

fear

and dilute

blood

with comfort.

At night

when she sleeps

in the only safety

she knows

(my arms)

I touch them

the words

carved

in

deception

misunderstanding

wrongness.

She is not

hideous

awful

stupid

unlovable

failure

loser

waste of time, space, air, effort, love.

I tell her so

every

single

morning

and every

single night.

And sometimes

I think

she even

believes me.


	12. Lacey's Merging

XII.

I won't say

I did

even though

I know

he will.

He just strikes me as

the cocky

arrogant

proud

loud

impulsive

rash

party boy

That I hate

but Anna

loves.

Go figure

that she

is pushy

enough to shove

her choices

on me.

Well played,

Twin.

Her pleased presence

in my head

my heart

my mind

stretches,

unfurls itself,

spreads her cunning

loud

subtle

hands

and grabs onto

my sanity.

Damn it

if he doesn't

make me feel

like a

stupid

little

impulsive

giggly

schoolgirl.

We call this

mating.

Not dating.

No

smiles

or light

gentle

brushings

of hands

lips.

Instead

we'll call this

hormones

rash

and crazy

and just

about

undeniable.

Damn it

if he doesn't

make me feel

like

the kind of idiot

that I

just hate

to love

to be.

Just

let it happen

and head

for the top

of the world

the stairs

the roller coaster's tall

scary

exhilarating

biggest hill.

Let go

of the rails

the preconceived

notions

that it is

dangerous

rash

impulsive

and just

ride.

God damn it

if he didn't

turn me

into

her

for one night.

And

god damn it

if I don't

want to do it

again.


	13. Jenna's Summer

XIII.

I miss

short sleeves

cool breezes

dipping toes in the sand.

Summer

makes me feel light

free

and like there is no

gaping

hole

chasm

void

where love

was supposed to be

pumped in

by the bucketful

gallons

poured in

from birth

to seventeen

candles

blinks of an eye

sleepless nights

with nightmares shushed away

by someone

with

eyes

caring

concerned

unbloodshot.

Winter

feels like

losing

something crucial

precious

the death of

something I

never quite knew

but am missing

quite terribly.

I see him

through slitted lids

watching me

like he's scared

my unweighted

delicate

tender frame

will be whisked away.

Don't worry,

Bradleylove.

I couldn't do that

to you

to myself.

I can do plenty of things

to myself

but I can't

do a

single

darn

thing

to hurt you too.

Besides

I don't want

to lose

to die

to disappear

from summertime

and short sleeves

and cool breezes.

I just want

to feel

alive.

So, no,

Bradleylove.

When you whisper

in my ear

gently

when I

fake sleep

from nightmares

that no one ever

hushed

before you

don't worry.

I wouldn't want

to miss summer.

Just smile

and relax

and keep whispering

sweet nothings

like the family

you have to be

for me.


	14. Emlyn's Gameplay

XIV.

When the creek runs dry

metaphorically speaking

proverbially speaking

paraphernalially speaking

nothing is fun.

And he

angry

sulky

like a teenager

deprived of a Friday night lay

stalks

in and out of company

looking for

snort

blow

rhyme

reason

in the form of

things that I

do not dare

to write out

for you to read.

And when

the metaphorical

proverbial

paraphernalial

creek

stops flowing

he gets mean

and devious

and likes to cause

some chaos

in between naps

and snaps

of impatient fingers

and impatient hips

and impatient lips.

So when he calls

his old dog,

fully expecting her to come

running

obedient

loyal

and ever-predictable

and she

is too busy

with bright colors

and rainbows

and shagging the hippie

that she pretends

is special

he

decides

it is time

to play

a little dirty.

With sugar-coated lips

its not quite a lie

but when he promises things

with the intention

of hurting

and she

a glutton

for attention

acceptance

'love'

concedes

to 'home'

'love'

'acceptance'

he

is a winner.

Always

always

always

the winner.

And they play in the

metaphorically

proverbially

paraphernalially

dry creekbed

and she

has no way to know

if she can swim

when the tide comes.


	15. Bradley's Dejection

XV.

The only thing worse

than getting home

to emptiness

is having

no where

to come home to

and no one

to come home to.

When I try

to remember

long nights

with her

warm

and secure

and happy

for some reason

he kind of

sneaks

peeks

climbs

in there

taking

from me

like he takes

from her.

I hate him

and

his invasive

taking

taking

taking

when he can't

get what he wants.

Some of us don't have

lots of money

lots of addictions

lots of stuff.

Some of us

just

have

her.

Some of us

just

want

her.

She

is with

him

and

I

am with

cold

empty

broken

people

at

the shelter

for those

who have given up.

I remember

when

she

gave up.

I

was there

all the way

when

she

gave up.

But now

he

gives her hope.

Him.

He doesn't

care

want

love

need

value

enjoy

appreciate

anticipate

anything about her.

So I

will just take

my guitar

and

my self

and I

will just go

and sit

and wait.

I want to say

'I told you so'

but maybe

I'll refrain.

I always was

so nice

so giving

so stupid.


	16. Lacey's Revelation

XVI.

Sometimes

you have to

get off the roller coaster

and throw up.

Sometimes

you have to

say 'fuck you'

to yourself

to your family

to your

whatthefuckever

stupid

narcissistic

unbelievable

untrusting

ridiculous

'mate'.

God damn it

if I didn't

expect this.

But Anna

in all her

mean

spiteful

unbelievable

untrusting

ridiculous

awful ways

forgot to tell me

to be like her

and not

ever

ever

ever

ever

get involved

with anything

but places

that get described

by clever

flowery

euphemisms.

So

fuck you

to all of those

brushed

little

gasps

and hurried

furtive

glances

and

god

damn

times

I thought

his eyes

were pretty

or that she

could be

anything

but a parasite

grasping for things

she should not

be allowed

to take.

For all those moments

where I

felt

like anything

was ever really

about

for

to

me.


	17. Jenna's Spark

XVII.

Something about his eyes,

so urgent

and dark

and deep

make me lose

my head.

Thoughts

scatter

and breath

catches.

He can steal

all of me

and I

kind of

really

need

love

want

that.

He isn't gentle

but he cares enough

to spend the time

and that

is why

I always

come running.

Somewhere in those

urgent

dark

deep

eyes

I am sure

I can find

and fix

the sadness

redeem

the hurt

broken

sins

and all those regrets

I am sure

he just

stifles.

If I

stick by him long enough

I am sure

that he

will open up

and let me

crawl inside his wounds

to kiss them all better.

I'm confident

that 'hate'

and 'love'

are two halves

of the same coin

and when

it all

comes down

to technicalities

he

really does

love me

and I just have to

help him see that.

And so

I will

go to him

for the dark nights

when he is too lost

to even know

he is,

for the boogeymen

who lurk

at the corners

of his eyes

when he

needs something

he calls

powder

and I call

caring.


	18. Emlyn's Bird

XVIII.

Sugarcane

and

soft sighs

and

the hands

of

someone

who would like to think

she knows

who I am

what she's doing

and how to save

a

wretch

like

me.

She pretends that we

could ever be

a couple

a unit

a group,

together

understanding

happy. In a way

I want

to crush

this

false

sense

of

hope

in her.

But,

in a way,

I want

to make sure

she forever

forever

forever

has that spark

so she is

forever

forever

forever

around for me

to use

so that I can

forever

forever

forever

play with the innocence

that I have never once tasted

anywhere else

in this

entire

bloody

world.

There is a sort of

rare

delicious

almost extinct

sweetness

to someone

who will never

ever

grow wings

to fly

away.


	19. Bradley's Party

XIV.

There is a woman

at the shelter

who should not be there.

She wears

pearls

and smiles

with teeth that have known

a friendly neighborhood dentist.

She makes the rest of us

dull

dingy

hideous

by comparison.

She constantly watches

our sad shuffling of

broken

withered

souls

through soup kitchen lines

and bathroom passes

and idle chitchat

of people who can only

speak of the weather.

She told me,

once,

upon a time,

that she knew something I could do

for her

but 'more importantly'

for me.

Sell

something

valuable

and you

can have

whatever

you want

to buy.

When

you

have nothing

to sell

what do you sell?

You.

I think

I will talk to her.

I have

nothing

so.

I will give

sell

barter

me.

I think

I'm a bit

tired

of bothering.

Tired of bothering

with sleeping alone

tired

from a heart

too big

and in love with those

whose hearts are

way too big too.

The woman

smiles

pats me on the back

and tells me they'll love me.

They

will love me.

I mull this over

and nod

and play 'let's pretend'

that this is a

big

fancy

party

with furs

and teeth

that have known

the friendly neighborhood dentist

and that I am only giving a

big

fancy

speech.

And its okay

because

they'll love me.

Right?

I tell myself

and

play let's pretend

and try

really

really

really hard

to not think

of a pretty little blonde

with a smile

that can

simultaneously make

and break

me

and my too big heart.

But

when hands

impatient

and

not-so-very-gentle

for someone's

first time doing this

come searching for things

that I

am

'willingly'

giving

(I really have no choice)

I find myself

thinking

about nothing at all

except

a pretty little blonde

with sad eyes

and sad scars

and a sad

sad

sad

past

that makes us match.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In the end,

I have

two hundred and fifty dollars

American

and

they love me.


	20. Lacey's Vertigo

XX.

I find myself

standing

on the precipice

of potential

of future

of ever making myself

anything at all.

I find myself

standing

on the edge

of a cliff.

And when I look over

the metaphorical edge

I see

fear

giving in

...peace.

When I look over

the literal edge

I see

rocks

water

...peace.

Should I

take that step

to plummet

and fly

and maybe

outrun her?

I think

that for once

I would like

to have

my brain

my heart

my body

to myself.

For, certainly

I,

should I plummet

and take wing

perhaps

maybe

for a moment

not be

'that girl'

who is

beautiful

(but crazy!)

talented

(but untouchable!)

intriguing

(but so not worth bothering with!)

Perhaps

maybe

on the way down

I can be

'that girl'

who flew.

.

.

.

But I am a coward.

And so.

I step down,

drive away,

with my twin

and my quiet

unassuming

'beauty'.

I am selfish-

I will not

scar my corpse

before the cameras

can find me.

I think

I should

look

lovely dead.


End file.
